


What Can You See From The Top Of That Hill?

by Overanalyzer



Series: Demigods and Their Ill-Advised Sexual Exploits [4]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blasphemy, Dubious Consent, Fortune Telling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5088473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overanalyzer/pseuds/Overanalyzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the 12th Legion marches against the Titans, Jason Grace is looking for an edge. Octavian has just what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Can You See From The Top Of That Hill?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mab (Queenie_Mab)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie_Mab/gifts).



> This story owes its existence to Mab, who knows _exactly_ what buttons to press to get me to start writing.
> 
> Mentioned pairings that didn't warrant their own tags: Jason/Dakota, Jason/Mike Kahale, and Jason/Reyna (just brief mentions, but I thought I'd bring it up just in case).

The temple of Jupiter was a familiar sight to Jason, but he couldn't say it had ever been welcoming. The statue was intimidating, as was the opulence of the other decoration, and red lightning in the night sky above was forbidding and just plain creepy. As was the cause of said red lightning, even if Jason didn't like to think that way about a fellow legionnaire.

Octavian was hard at work; the pile of disemboweled toys laying in front of the statue was bigger than usual. That was no surprise considering what the 12th Legion was about to do.

They'd known for months that there was _something_ going on on Mt. Tamalpais. The brief disappearance of Atlas had been ample proof of that, even if the old Titan had resumed his ancient post in short order. The black palace that arose upon the mountain had also been cause for concern, to say the least. And then the monster sightings had begun; empousai, dracanae, even the Minotaur himself. Then they came: Titans, right out of legend, back to menace the world after untold millenia languishing in obscurity. Legionnaires scouting the mountain had confirmed the presence of several of the sons of Uranus, long thought locked away: Krios, Hyperion, Iapetus. Worst of all, only one day before, a captured telekhine had given up the worst news of all:

Saturn, the king of the Titans and devourer of gods, had returned to life in the body of one of his own demigod descendants, and was on the verge of regaining mastery of all the world.

Now, the Legion was readying for battle. The praetors had ordered the cohorts to prepare for a massive assault on Mt. Tam, now known for certain to be playing host to the newly reborn Mount Othrys and the might of the Titans. Former legionnaires had been asked to return. Even some of the more amenable monsters, those who lived in harmony with man and those who simply preferred to exploit human civilization rather than bring it low, had agreed to lend their aid.

Come morning, the Twelfth Legion Fulminata would march to war against beings almost as old as time itself.

Jason was scared. Of course he was. With the fate of the world, who the hell wouldn't be? He was scared for New Rome, the only home he knew; and for the Legion, his only family. He was scared for the millions of mortals out in the world, ignorant of the doom that awaited them should he and his comrades fail. He was scared for the Fifth Cohort, the friends he'd trained with for most of his life and led for over a year; who tomorrow would march into almost certain death. And he was scared for himself. Jason knew the trial of a lifetime awaited him on the slopes of Mt. Tam, and he was desperately afraid of being found wanting; of proving to all the world that the son of Jupiter was unequal to the task before him.

Which brought him here. To his own father's temple; the one place on earth he should have felt comfortable and never, ever had. To a skinny blond boy who was, in his own way, as dangerous as any monster in any myth.

Octavian. Centurion of the 1st Cohort and Augur to the Gods.

Jason watched as Octavian tore the cotton guts out of a stuffed cow, muttering to himself for a moment before tossing the toy aside and reaching for another. A seal, this time. Jason, cleared his throat. "Centurion," He called out. Octavian turned around, his face twisting into what, on any one else, might have been considered a friendly smile.

Jason had never liked Octavian. Nobody _really_ did, he thought. Superficial charm and an ability to influence had won the augur all manner of admirers and hangers-on, but that didn't necessarily translate to friendships. He carried himself like he knew everything, and the scary thing was that he was usually the smartest guy in the room, so it couldn't even be chalked up to arrogance. The augur had this way about him, like every look he sent your way was just to size you up and pick out just where you were most vulnerable; every word spent in the service of his agenda: His own advancement.

And tonight, Jason needed him.

"Centurion," Octavion answered, with a courteous nod. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

"Shouldn't you?" Jason fired back.

Octavian shrugged. "There's work to be done." He gestured to the piled of mutilated toys behind him. "Anything I glean tonight could be of use tomorrow."

 _'Of use to_ you, _'_ Jason thought. But he kept that to himself. "I wanted..." He trailed off. There was no easy way to say this.

"You wanted a clue about the battle," Octavian supplied for him, always one step ahead, "You've finally decided to do what needs to be done."

Jason swallowed, his face growing hotter by the second. "Like you said: Anything that could help."

The auger grinned, the look in eyes just shy of open cruelty. "Good. I trust you remember what I told you?"

Jason's hands went to the hem of his shirt. "Are you--" he stuttered, cursing himself for his weakness, "--Are you sure this is safe?"

"For anybody else, in any other temple?" Octavian shrugged, "Probably not. But I've read up on this ritual. Jupiter sired you by breaking an oath. His seed, wrongly spilled, is what created you in the first place." The thin boy laid a hand on Jason's shoulder. "If you do the same, here and now, there's no telling what benefits we could reap." Jason wasn't entirely convinced, though. As if sensing this, Octavian leaned in, his mouth at Jason's ear. "Ask yourself: Tomorrow, when it's all over, do you really want to be thinking _'Could I have done more?'_ "

Jason swallowed again. Much as he wished it weren't so, Octavian knew exactly what to say. There was almost nothing the son of Jupiter wouldn't do to get the job done. If this ritual of Octavian's helped them save even a single legionnaire, kept even one of Jason's friends alive past tomorrow, could he really afford not to go through with it? Could he live with himself, wondering what might have been, had he only been a little more decisive?

Even if he spent the rest of his life feeling like a whore?

No. Jason's dignity wasn't worth a friend's life, much less the safety of the human race. There was no choice at all. Anything he could do, he would. Shrugging off Octavian's hand, he gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head.

Octavian made an approving noise. "I'm glad you finally see reason." He reached out and ran a finger down Jason's bare chest, smiling appreciatively. "I know you're nervous, but you don't need to be afraid. This doesn't need to be...unpleasant, for you." He brought his mouth to Jason's ear again, a hand on Jason's chin. "Just because it's a ritual," the augur whispered breathily, "doesn't mean we can't have our fun, too. What we do, we do in service to the gods. Try to enjoy yourself." With that, he crushed their lips together, prodding intrusively at Jason's mouth with his tongue.

For all Octavian's faults, Jason had to admit that 'bad kisser' wasn't one of them. The older boy was surprisingly gentle, only just forceful enough to make him _feel_ it. One hand snaked around Jason's waist, pulling their bodies close; the other came up to bury itself in his short blond hair. Jason found himself moaning at the contact. Jason wasn't a stranger to kissing. Puberty had been reasonably kind to him, and plenty of his fellow legionnaires, boys and girls, had expressed interest. He was only human, and a fifteen-year-old, massively hormonal human at that. But he'd always shied away from anything that could be construed as intimacy. Too many people saw the son of Jupiter as a status symbol; a feather in their cap. Never before had he let anybody this close.

It was probably fitting, then, that Octavian would be his first. _Of course_ someone who spent his adolescence trying to avoid getting used would wind up walking, eyes wide open, into the hands of one of the biggest users the gods had put into the world in the last century.

Speaking of that user's hands, the one had migrated from Jason's hair back down to his jaw; the other had gone to grab his ass. Octavian, clearly, did not believe in wasting time. Jason found his own hands gripping the thin boy's shoulders. Against his better instincts, his body was reacting quite favorably to the augur's touch. Again: fifteen years old. No matter how bad an idea this was, he thought he deserved a little slack.

There were now _two_ hands on Jason's ass, and it was growing apparent that he liked it. The increasingly lively hard on in his jeans proved that much. And what he felt grinding against him proved that Octavian liked it too. "Take your pants off, Grace." Octavian growled. Jason shivered; the temple of Jupiter was open on all sides. Anybody on Temple Hill could see them, simply by peering through the marble columns.

Disgraceful as it was, that thought just made him harder.

Pulling away, Jason quickly undid his belt. After a brief pause to kick off his shoes, he dropped both his jeans and boxers to the ground and stepped out of them. He was standing, totally naked, in Jupiter's temple, where anybody could show up and watch what was about to happen. Octavian stood there for a moment, drinking the sight of Jason's body with obvious pleasure, appreciative but impersonal. Like Jason was a particularly nice cut of meat, or a well-crafted cabinet. Like he was a _thing_ , to be used first, and admired a distant second. Jason looked down. Yep: Hard as a rock. Well, if nothing else, at least he was learning some things about himself.

"Now, bend over the altar," Octavian was no longer bothering to hide the imperiousness in his voice. This wasn't a request; it was a _command_ ; an order from the voice of the gods. Jason was a good soldier; he did as he was told, moving past the auger and bracing himself against the alter at the base of his father's statue. There was no point in hiding the shiver that pased through him, so he didn't. What could he possibly hide, now, exposed as he was? "Under any other circumstances," Octavian said, "I'd take a picture. The mighty son of Jupiter bending over for a lowly legacy? Ah, _priceless._ "

"Just get on with it," Jason bit out. Octavian could power-trip when they were off the clock.

"Well, somebody's impatient." The augur stepped up behind Jason, one hand on his hip, the other on his shoulder. "Tell me, golden boy, do you just want to get this over with?" There was that mouth at his ear again. A perfect metaphor, really. And the smirk, Jason could _hear_ it in the other's voice. "Or are you just. That. Eager?" And _oh fuck_ , teeth nibbling on his earlobe should _not_ feel that good. Jason vowed then and there: if he made it through the night without Jupiter smiting him, and if he survived the battle tomorrow, then he was definitely trying this with somebody he actually liked.

Octavian's hand moved from Jason's hip to his cock. Where and when the older boy had found lube, Jason couldn't say, but he'd clearly had some. The augur's grip was tight; some might say too tight, but Jason's brain was too addled to make that distinction. At the moment, all that mattered was _'hand on his dick.'_ Everything else was a secondary concern, if that.

Well, everything except the fact that that hand was _way too fucking slow!_

Because of course Octavian would be a damned tease. _Of fucking course._ He was a goddamned asshole about everything else, why would sex be any different? Ritual be damned, if there was a chance to be a sadist, Octavian was gonna take it! Never mind the notoriously testy god whose temple they were currently defiling, gotta draw out that humiliation!

Did it make him a freak, then, that he was getting off on that humiliation? That he was just this side of begging for Octavian to jerk him off faster, even while Jupiter himself was gazing down at them in all his judgmental marble glory? Jason thought it probably did. If only he cared at the moment. Because, make no mistake, Octavian may have been a teasing sadist asshole, but he was a teasing sadist asshole with a hand as talented as his tongue. Oh. _Tongue._ Jason knew that thinking about Octavian's tongue was a bad idea as soon as he did so, because that just led to thoughts of what _else_ that tongue might be capable of. And _those_ were not thoughts that were conducive to maintaining composure of any sort.

And when Octavian's other hand made its way to the cleft of his ass, composure was no longer an issue for Jason.

Like everything else about tonight, Jason had to admit that getting fingered was, but for the company, actually pretty great. Something else to add to the 'things to try with somebody who isn't a despicable sociopath' checklist. What a learning day this was turning out to be. Kissing? Great. Handjobs? Marvelous! Taking it up the ass? Unexpected, but fuck it, why not!?

Turned out, Octavian's fingers were as reliably skilled as his silver tongue. Jason had known, intellectually, the the prostate was A Thing. You couldn't help but hear about stuff like that when yours was the society that popularized the orgy. He'd never tried it, though. Maybe he'd never been interested, or maybe he'd been embarrassed, or maybe it just hadn't occurred to him; Jason couldn't really figure out what had been stopping him at the moment. To perfectly honest, he didn't _care_ at the moment. He just wished he'd tried this _sooner._ He tried to keep it down, but Jason was halfway sure anybody on Temple Hill could hear him groaning.

"Oh, this is too much." The smirk in Octavian's voice had become a full-fledged shit-eating grin, and it was a testament to the augur's ability that Jason was too far gone at this point to care. His prostate was under a constant assault and he never wanted it to end. "I wonder what the legion would think, if they heard their great hero was such a slut?" Octavian chuckled. "I don't know, I think they might want to _take turns..._ "

Oh boy. Oooooh boy, that was a _wrong_ thought, but now it was in Jason's head. The _images!_ Jason imagined what they'd be like. Dakota's easy grin, would it stay on his face when Jason took him in his mouth? Mike Kahale and those big, strong arms. The praetors would bend him over and take him at the same time, like a good team. Even Reyna; he'd heard some girls liked that sort of thing, and she was _totally_ the type...

Jeez, Octavian was right about one thing: Jason _was_ a slut.

He was so caught up in fantasizing, Jason almost forgot who was behind him, _in_ him. But Octavian wasn't content to be forgotten, and, to prove his point, started sucking a hickey into Jason's neck. It felt like an attack, (it _was_ an attack), but Jason didn't mind. He was just lost enough that it didn't wind who was with him or what they were doing.

Jason _felt_ himself go quiet, more than heard. A tiny part of him knew what that meant, and struggled to vocalize it, but no sound emerged from his mouth. He must have made some kind of indication, though, because Octavian was careful to point his prick upward, leading Jason's come to land across the altar.

They stayed there for a moment; Jason panting, still bent over; Octavian pressed up against his back, one arm around Jason's waist. Then, like flipping a switch, moment over, and Jason was getting shoved aside so Octavian could examine the semen on the altar, as detached and clinical as if they _hadn't_ just committed ritualized blasphemy against the infamously touchy king of the gods. Standing there, Jason felt exposed, used, and frankly a little insulted at how quickly he'd been tossed aside. But Octavian was absorbed in his reading, so he figured now was a good time to get dressed again. Halfway through pulling on his boxers, Octavian spoke up.

"It's Krios."

"Krios?"

"Yes," Octavian pronounced, certainty written all over his face, "Krios. You need to kill him."

"You're...you're sure?" Krios wasn't exactly notable for being a heavy hitter, and Jason's ego compelled him to double check.

"Yes, _Krios._ " Octavian responded irritably. "I don't know why, but it's important. Tomorrow, _you_ have to find Krios and kill him. It's- _he's_ the key to our victory, I'm sure of it."

"Okay. Krios." Jason idly wondered what poor bastard would have to deal with Saturn, but apparently that wasn't his concern. If killing Krios was a win for the Legion, he'd do it. "I can do that."

"I should hope," Octavian said idly, still looking down at the altar.

"So, um, hey..." Jason wasn't sure what protocol was for this sort of thing, but he felt like he should try. "What we just did. I mean--"

"Don't worry," Octavian waved dismissively. "I won't tell anyone about this." His back was still to Jason, staring intently down at the product of their activities as if it held all the secrets of the universe. For all Jason knew, it did. "You should get some sleep, Jason. The sun will be up soon, and you have an eventful day in front of you."

Well, that appeared to be it, then. "Right," Jason agreed, "I'll do that. You-you get some rest, too."

* * *

 

 

The son of Jupiter was still there. Even told of the magnitude of the task in front of him, he was still concerning himself with Octavian.

"Don't worry about me, Jason..." he said, distantly, fixated on the altar. Everything he'd told the younger boy was true, but there was one word that didn't fit with the rest. One word, so out of place.

Octavian felt himself frown as heard Jason's slow, retreating footsteps. This word, this name, could prove troublesome. Or, an opportunity. His lips curled into a smile as he reached for a rag, wiping away all traces of what they'd done.

And all traces of the name ' _Gaea_ '.

"...I'm sure I'll be just fine."


End file.
